Thanks to everyone that has reviewed and/or has this story on favorites/alerts.

Also, for the title of this chapter, Busic Room, the B in Busic is for Baby. And the Usic is Busic is for Music.

Disclaimer: All characters and the Twilight Saga itself belong to Stephenie Meyer. I do not own any songs.

Chapter 7: Painting Fears In The Busic Room

At first, I didn't understand why my eyes were watering up.

What I was looking at was just a room. A room with blank walls, no furniture, and white sheets and newspaper on the cleared floor.

I wanted to ask Edward where his music instruments—his piano, guitar, microphone, and other items— were, but I was too shocked to say anything. Whenever I opened my mouth, my lips would move as if I was trying to talk, but nothing would come out.

Letting my eyes wander and my feet advancing me into the center of the room, I spotted some things on the floor, all the way in the corner of the room.

Paint. All types of paint were aligned across the wall. Blue, pink, orange, yellow, red. You name it and it was there.

Then, there was a chisel. A plain chisel with a yellow handle; I supposed it was to open the buckets of paint.

I felt my eyebrows pull down because I was just so confused, shocked, happy, and just....in love.

Finally, I turned back to Edward and asked, "What is this?"

He smiled handsomely and said, "Well, I was thinking that this room could be the Busic room."

"The what room?" I asked him, laughing softly at the strange name.

He chuckled and replied, "The Busic room. The B is for Baby, and the Usic is for Music."

I bit my bottom lip softly, blushing while doing so.

"Where are all of your music instruments?" I questioned.

He stepped closer to me, close enough to touch, and responded, "Emmett and Rosalie are keeping them for a couple of days. Just until we're done with the room."

"And, what exactly, are we going to do to the room?"

He took another step toward me and I went to take a step back, but he stopped me by wrapping an arm around my waist. He rubbed my stomach through the t-shirt I was wearing.

I blushed even darker.

"You and I are going to paint it. Then, let it dry, and put all of the instruments and baby stuff inside."

"Shouldn't we wait for Tanya?" I asked, but not the least bit interested in his answer. I didn't want Tanya to be here, joining Edward and I in decorating the Busic room.

He sighed and when I looked over at him, he was looking sadly at the covered floor.

"Tanya is....," Stupid. Selfish. Ignorant. Slutty, "too busy at the hospital for this kind of stuff. I mean, she's always there and not here, taking care of you. If she isn't going to take care of you, then she isn't included when it comes to the fun activities."

I detached myself from him, and asked, "So taking care of me isn't fun?"

"Aw, Bella! You know what I mean. Taking care of you is always fun. It's just that...I have some fears that I'm afraid will come true. And while I'm with you, those fears just suddenly play in my mind. As if they are going to happen right then and there."

He looked down at me with beautiful emerald eyes that were full of hurt; then embraced me in a hug. He wrapped his arms around me, pressing his perfect body to mine. This mere movement caused my heart to accelerate its pumping.

I asked in a whisper, "Tell me what fears you're talking about."

Stiffening, his breath hitched and this time he detached himself from me.

Staring at the ground, he replied, "I don't think that...that...would be possible."

"Because you are frightened of what I'll think of you afterwards?"

I continued to watch him as he let his feet move him against the west wall of the room. And I watched as he slid down the wall, knees up, feet positioned in front of him, and his back resting back on the plain wall. His hands were in his hair, yanking at it gently but enough to let you understand that he's obviously conflicted. Fighting against whether or not to tell me.

When he didn't reply to me within five minutes, I walked cautiously over to him.

Pulling his hands out of his hair, I squeezed them softly, letting him know that I would always be there for him.

I knelt in front of him and he lifted his head to look at me.

Smiling sweetly, I murmured, "Come on. It's time to paint the room."

I stood up, my small hands still in his large ones, and went to go near the paint while taking him with me. But, he halted my movements.

Getting up and pulling me back to him, he answered my previous question.

"Yes. I am terrified that you'll think horribly of me afterwards. But I'm also scared of you taking my fears seriously. And then making them a reality," he said.

"I could never think wrong of you. And if you don't want me to do something; if you're afraid that I'll do something reckless, just tell me, Edward," I took a deep breath and continued, "I wouldn't—couldn't do something that you didn't want me to do. So, please, tell me everything that you've been hiding from me...." I looked at him through wide, pleading eyes.

He sighed and uttered, "You know that I can't deny you anything when you look at me like that."

This time, he was the one to take a deep breath. My breathing just stopped all together—which I didn't think was very good for the baby, and myself—as I waited in anticipation.

I finally began to breathe again when he started to let out all of his phobias, "I'm afraid you'll want to suddenly back out of this, and that getting an abortion will be the only answer to a solution. I'm terrified that if you don't back out, that you will get attached to the baby and not want to give it up when the time comes. I'm frightened...," his voice shook and I took in all of his worry as he resumed spilling his secrets, "that one day..I'll hurt you so badly that you'll leave and I-I won't ever hear from you again. And then....I fear that our child—or children—will loath me."

By now, my face was flaming hot and I think that I could literally feel and see the smoke coming from my ears.

I was furious. Beyond furious! I mean, how dare he think such thoughts! I ought to smack him across the face for being to ridiculous.

And so, that is exactly what I did.

I lifted my hand and let it whip across his smooth cheek. Apparently, I smacked him pretty hard because his usually unusual pale skin had a giant red mark in the shape of my hand on his beautiful face.

"I knew you would hate me after I told you," he whispered, bringing a hand up to his face and rubbing the red mark.

My anger went down a bit and I said, "I don't hate you. It's just that usually you're really clever, Edward. And to know that you could think something so stupid makes me mad! First of all, I would never get an abortion. Second, I'm not going to back out of this and you could never hurt me," Well, not any more than you already have, which just consists of you throwing my heart inside a blender, "Lastly, your kids aren't going to hate you. Nobody could ever hate you."

"Yeah. Whatever you say, Bella."

I rolled my eyes and walked over to the paint. I picked up the chisel and opened up the maroon paint with it.

Setting the chisel and bucket top aside, I bit my lip to contain myself from smiling and giggling aloud.

"What are you doing?" I heard Edward ask behind me.

I stood up and faced him.

"Close your eyes," I told him.

He hesitated at first but then complied.

When I made sure his eyes were closed, I turned back around, knelt down, and dipped my hands in the maroon paint.

I turned back to Edward, and wiped my paint-covered hands over his face.

His eyes popped open in surprise as I burst into a fit of laughter.

The green of his eyes clashed with the red on his face causing my laughter to become hysterical.

While I was in the middle of laughing, a big green glob of paint hit me on the forehead.

I blinked twice, then grinned devilishly.

He started to back away from me as I took off all of the lids on the paint buckets. I picked up the yellow paint bucket and chased after him with it, occasionally spilling it on him.

We continued this little paint fight for a while, and then we got serious. We splattered paint on the walls. Since we didn't know if the baby—or babies—were going to be a boy or a girl, we used all of the colors. We made outlines of our bodies, hands, feet, and toes. We drew images of flowers and cars and different animals in different colors.

And I must admit, Edward is an amazing painter. I just can't say the same for me.

Currently, Edward was outlining my body in dark blue on the eastern wall of the room.

It was profile view—sideways view—of my body. He had said that he wanted our child to actually see—more than in a picture way—the different stages of pregnancy that I went through.

He started at my feet, working his way up with three fingers drenched in the paint. Finally, he made his way to my impregnated stomach.

A loud rumbling sound interrupted the peaceful silence.

I giggled and rubbed my belly, despite the fact that a blush was creeping its way onto my face.

Edward chuckled and stood up, looking at my cherry-colored face.

"I guess that's the baby's way of telling us that it's hungry. We better feed little Eddie in there," I joked and I thought that he had agreed with me. So I stepped forward without thinking and I crashed into his hard, perfectly constructed chest—he had taken his shirt off during the paint fight, claiming that it was his favorite shirt and he didn't want it to get messy. I surely didn't argue about it with him.

I then moved to the side and tried to get through, still blushing. But he wouldn't let me.

"Wha—" I was cut short by his hand.

His soft large hand came up and cupped my blazing cheek.

"The blush on your cheeks is lovely.....," he murmured softly.

My breathing hitched; my heart pumped in overtime and louder than usual.

His head dipped down and his lips found mine as he passionately crushed my body to his; my back against the freshly painted wall.

His lips worked against mine, rough but soft, and I found myself responding to his body language, not thinking of the consequences afterwards.

There ya go!

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---J